


some candy talking

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor doesn't want to give up his girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some candy talking

Exoplanets are beautiful, they really are. This one in particular is a favourite. Filigree lace raining down constantly. A gentle kiss of a whisper when it meets their skin. Constellations swimming slowly overhead. Tree-lined streets and damp earth. Streetlights that serve as glowing points of safety through the fog. Graffiti that swirls over abandoned brick buildings and metal alien casings. Glasgow but not Glasgow. An empty city all their own.

Clara walks ahead so confidently, sometimes turning back to point out something he's missed. Funny, that used to be his job. But over the course of the adventure today (over so many adventures together, really), he notices these things about her more than the planets themselves. Her hair falling over her shoulders, matching her swinging steps. The music of her laugh.

Their wandering leads to a quiet alleyway and a wrought-iron arch with a gate that opens up to reveal another tiny world within this one: a semi-secluded little stony walkway that goes down towards a gazebo that sits at the edge of a lake. It's surrounded by a meadow, the green of the grass turned almost black under the navy shell of the sky.

They take off their shoes and socks (tights, for her). Firm stone and then springy, dew-sprinkled meadow under their feet. After walking for awhile they recline on the grass and hold hands while they talk about the stars and debate which ones are closer. Helplessly, he tells her that together, they'll visit them all.

"We don't have to," Clara responds. "This is enough. Really."

Oh. At that, he withdraws his hand and folds them both over his chest, thinking. Introspection is such an easy habit to fall into, especially when you've got a couple thousand years' worth of practice.

But Clara's good at refocusing him. She tugs his thoughts away from the heavens and into her embrace. Distracts him with kisses and ridiculous stories. He runs a fingertip along her arm, connecting the small pattern of freckles there. Clara is a constellation herself. She shines even brighter when he unzips her skirt and discards it along with her knickers. Feeling into her heated layers. Cupping. Clara waiting, expectant. Scared, like he is: scared of losing this. _Not without me!_ an unspoken refrain - a promise - between them.

"Can I?" he asks. In his accent, the edges of his words emerge as cut off, almost swallowed. It underscores his nervousness. And even though he's asking her to give this to him, he's giving her something in return. That's the way it's always been with them. He doesn't want to let go of that- he doesn't want to give up his girl. He'd tear apart the universe for her. There are so many different methods for saying "I love you" and "I miss you when you're gone." He's tried a hundred ways to tell her, and failed at most of them. Here, though, he can pull her in and try again to explain.

The fog, like the falling lace, is a veil for his movement as he settles himself between her thighs. He just wants to be here with her. To stop and have a quiet moment before saying goodbye, because he knows he will have to, sooner than he'd like. Maybe not now, or next week, but there will come a time when she will slip from his grasp - because they always do - so for now he wants to absorb himself in this. Her hold, and her taste: bittersweet on his tongue.

It's almost a reflection of the darkness of his mind and the inner unpleasantness that he always fights. Except here the darkness is warm and safe, comforting. One of Clara's hands at the base of his neck, the other at the back of his head. Cradling him. Both of her legs are now over his shoulders. He pushes his weight into his elbows and puts his hands around her thighs. Her hips move and he moves with her, raising and lowering his head. He's speaking to Clara, and she's responding. He loves adventuring with her, but this is almost better: how this way he can get to the essential and true without stumbling over the words or having it come out wrong.

He presses his tongue against that spot inside her and hears her whimper behind her teeth before he slides it out so that he can move it up to explore the little bump that rises above her. A small gift that's exactly what he needs right now. He softens his tongue and licks over it again and again. Clara gasp-groans, that way she sounds when she's frustrated but happy about something he's doing. A noise she's made in moments both perilous and pleasurable. Something indisputably Clara, as much a part of her as her penchant for wearing miniskirts or stealing his sonic sunglasses.

He's going to miss that. So he keeps going, just so he can hear it repeated in an endless loop. He closes his eyes - commit it to memory if he can - which is when she makes a different noise. More of a contented sigh. Her hips seem to move of their own accord in minute jerks of muscle. Her legs fall open, slipping off his shoulders. Clara moans and presses herself up closer to him as she rides it out into a slow fade. He works it through with her, getting every last. Capturing as much of this as possible.

When he's done, he moves away from Clara and lies down next to her again. She takes his hand once more and smiles at him. Her eyes are glittery, a reflection of the sky above them with its far-flung twinkling stars.


End file.
